Some Kind Of Epic Story
by Rainbow Sparkles Moon Princess
Summary: Yeah, it's a story. Of the fanfic variety.
1. Snow

Author's note:

This story is probably going to be M at some point. That's why I rated it that. This is meant to be a sort of prologuey thing. I'm honestly not completely sure where I'm going with this, but it will be epic. And I am a rather slow writer. Now that you are warned, I hope you enjoy these few pointless paragraphs.

P.S. It's probably not going to be Neku/Joshua the whole time, so don't get your panties in a twist please.

Joshua shifted, emitting a pained groan. His whole body burned; he was reluctant to wake up. No reason came to him why he had started to. His feet felt like they were completely encased in ice, alarming in a distant way. Where was he? Was it winter? He couldn't place where he had fallen asleep, when, or why. He tried to move. His right arm was met with much resistance, and the tingling, searing pain told him that he was laying on it, and had been for some time. He lay still, and as consciousness made it's journey to his brain, slowed by the bitter, disorientating temperature, he began to realize just how cold it was. Last thing he remembered was waiting on a bench. He stretched a bit, despite the pain and felt the warmth of something under him.

He slowly, painstakingly rolled over onto his back. Each breath brought frigid, stinging air, into his lungs. Hundreds, thousands of tiny points of light dotted the sky. Between each there was another, and another dimmer star, creating the illusion of darkness behind the brightest stars. He had never seen anything like it before, the vastness of it totally alien to him. It scared him. He wanted familiar lights, more than anything he wanted the night sky to be dark again.

He sat up. There was about a half-foot of snow covering the ground. He brushed some off of his jeans. He remembered wearing them earlier, with a cream coloured shirt, and a dingy jacket that couldn't have been his. He had been sitting on the bench... waiting for someone.

An intangible ghost of warmth on his shoulder reminded him that there was something he had been laying on. He looked to his right, where he had been sleeping minutes ago. There was a dark silhouette of a body crumpled in the snow. He outstretched his hand and touched rough, ice cold fingers. He crawled over and leaned in to touch their shoulder, pushed weakly. He waited, and pushed again. There was no response. He collapsed into the snow, left shoulder and arm resting on the others torso, mimicking the position he had woke up in. He understood why his right arm fell asleep.

He closed his eyes against the moon's light, reflecting off of the snow that was biting his cheek. Exhaustion overtook him, like he hadn't felt in years. He didn't know why someone was lying next to him, another thing not felt in years, and he didn't care. Just breathing, he lay there, numbness overtaking him bit by bit.

Who was it? Was it someone he even knew? Once the question presented itself, he couldn't let go of it, much as he tried. If he was going to die with someone in a frozen wasteland, might as well know who, right?

Upon opening his eyes, the exhaustion hit him again full blast. He slumped into the snow, hardly breathing, waiting to gather some strength back.

Finally, he lifted himself, propping his weight on his elbow. Blood rushing back into his forearm stung and burned as he sat up, gasping for breath. Convulsive shivering wracked his entire body, he held tightly to his knees for warmth and stability. His head ached, the more awake he became the less he could think through the pain. He let out a quiet cry, burying his face in his soaking ice-cold jeans.

Some time later, the other began to stir. The sight of the clear night sky sent him into a panic. _How long have I been gone? Where is this, where is Joshua?_ He sat up, and looked around wildly, for anything he could recognize. Immediately he noticed Joshua, who had since lost consciousness and fallen on his side.

He tried to stand, but all feeling was gone from his legs. He fell to his knees, bare hands crashing into the icy precipitation. As soon as his calves started to scream in pain, he stood again, and wiped his hands on his shirt. He began to take a step, and his entire body seemed to light up, exploding in a conflagration of stinging, burning pain. The blood rushing from his head blurred his vision, making him feel faint. He stood still, until it was bearable. Then, and only then did he take a step.

He looked around, seeing nothing but snow in every direction. _What have I gotten myself into? _Helplessness overtook him, and he unceremoniously crashed back into the snow.

He could hear nothing but wind blowing past his ears. The silence made him feel so far away from everything. He looked to Joshua for a long while, watching the slightest rise and fall of his chest, not really believing his eyes. It had been so long, he had begun to think that Joshua was just a dream he had once, an imaginary friend. He looked so young, hugging his knees to himself, lying on his side in the snow.

Neku crawled to his side, not feeling the pain as badly now. He wrapped an arm around the other boy. The touch relieved some of his fear, but did little to warm him. Joshua didn't move at all, his faint breathing the only thing letting Neku know he was still alive. Neku thought he could almost feel the boy's body shutting down. Death scared him, but the thought that he wouldn't be far behind comforted him more than anything. He didn't want to be alone again.


	2. Joshua

The remnants of a piano's tune resounded in the air.

Falling upon no one's ear but Joshua's.

He stood up. To his right, open curtains let in sun, illuminating dust particles in the air. They were to be drawn this time of day, he knew this, but it didn't matter to him whether any person should scold him now. A shadow of a thought flitted through his mind, to look out the widow. The view from that window had held his interest for hours in a past not so long ago. Nevertheless, he didn't step closer. No longer caring about a world outside that he could see, but never know, he turned and began the journey through the rooms, halls, corridors and occasionally stairs that would bring him to his room. He saw nothing. Heard nothing. Experienced nothing. Felt nothing. The awe-inspiring paintings lining the halls held no meaning for him. The grand carpeted steps under his feet could have been rotten wood. The towering ceilings above him faded away, into a sky of artificial light. Sights that would be considered wondrous were steel bars in a cage to him. Feeling that he had seen all he could see, knew all he ever desired to, learned to do more than would ever be appreciated, his life had become void of curiosity. Nothing could raise his spirits, challenge his mind. 'Nothing' had taken on a new meaning for him. In the lots his old feelings, thoughts, wants and needs had left vacant, nothing had come and bought the empty space.

When he was almost to his bedroom, he saw a sight that invoked one of the few feelings that had not up and left. Hung up on the wall was a painting, taller than himself. There, in the confines of the golden frame, was a small boy sitting on a chair. He was a vision to behold, the perfect child, beautiful to look at and beautiful to hear, in the absence of voice. Every time his eyes lay upon one of these "masterpieces", he felt as though part of him were being ripped from the rest. At good times it felt like a rib had been snatched from him, his flesh rend and bone snapped off, and removed. At bad times it was like his entire chest was being pried open, as if by the jaws of the wolf, falling open, all that was inside being consumed. Though other sensations had dulled, the horror that gripped him when he passed these distorted reflections would only increase in amplitude as the years added understanding, and fear. Nothing in his lifetime would come close to stirring as much emotion as those hanging canvas.

Once, had he requested that this _one _be moved, so close to his room it was. He knew it was a futile request, however. Grandmother simply adored the wretched paintings, and could not understand why they would bother anyone. _Especially _him. The sickness he felt when those unnatural violet eyes met his own, a simple blue, would at times not leave him for an hour after. He often contemplated putting a cloth, something, anything over it to stop that child from seeing him. Reaching out to him. Pulling him. He passed it with difficulty, straining to not look any longer than he already had, escaping to the deafening quietness of his room.


End file.
